


Hit the Sheets

by SolarMorrigan



Series: Solar's 007 Fest 2020 [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, i dunno man, lovers to friends who are also lovers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Five times Bond and Q share a bed and one time they sleep together
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Solar's 007 Fest 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851796
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	Hit the Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for 007 Fest fluff prompt table, "There was only one (1) bed!"

The first time they share a bed, they tumble into it, a half stripped-down mess of grabbing hands and greedy tongues. They fuck, hard and fast and pressed as close as they can manage, and then they part ways.

Bond goes first, much quicker at putting himself together, and the kiss he offers Q before leaving is one full of residual heat and affection, equal parts _I wish I could stay_ and _Let’s do this again_. There are no hard feelings about the quick departure; their schedules don’t allow for long goodbyes.

Q allows himself a moment to linger on the memory of the warmth of Bond’s lips on his, on the already oncoming ache of bruises on his hips and thighs, then finishes tugging his tie into place and leaves the hotel room and its one bed behind.

The next time they share a bed, it’s really only Q who tumbles into it. He finds himself clutching the sheets again, but this time it’s blood that’s seeping into the linens, making a sordid mess in a different way.

It’s an abandoned house they’ve found, and the bed is the only surface that suits their purpose. Bond treats Q with cool efficiency, stitching without a flinch while Q bites his lip bloody against the pain, but helps him settle against the dusty pillows with gentle hands.

The bloody blankets are stripped away, were probably not all that sanitary to begin with, and Q drifts.

When he wakes, he’s surprised to find Bond beside him, sat up straight against the wall the bed is backed against, eyes on the door, but with one hand on Q’s shoulder, thumb stroking absently.

“I’m never going into the field with you again,” Q mutters, already feeling the pull of sleep drawing him back.

“You’ll be fine,” Bond murmurs back, and God help him, Q believes him.

The time after that (because Q _is_ fine, if you discount the new scars), it’s not so much a tumble as a gentle slide, not an anonymous room but Q’s own bed.

Bond is coming down off a mission, jetlagged and ragged, and Q is too keyed up to sleep. He’d offered Bond the bed – one of them might as well get some use out of it.

Q is content to tinker in the next room, to keep his hands and mind busy, until he hears the rustling sheets, the chocked-off groan, the gasp. He comes to check the room in a hurry, only to realize that the assailant he’d expected was Bond’s own mind, and the weapon, a nightmare.

He’s surprised when he goes to Bond’s side to see that he’s really alright and Bond reaches out to grab his hand.

“James?” Q asks quietly.

Bond shakes his head, keeps his grip.

Uncertain of what else to do, Q slowly settles onto the bed beside Bond, then slides in when Bond makes room for him.

As Bond eventually drifts off, it’s Q who keeps watch this time, holding onto Bond’s hand even when the man’s grip has gone lax with sleep.

The next time, the bed is barely even worth sharing. It’s a hard, narrow cot shoved into a corner somewhere in the labyrinthine bunker Q-branch has claimed for their own, so uncomfortable that Q hasn’t even bothered to try lying down on it.

He’s propped up against the wall, scrolling on his phone when Bond finds him.

“You’re meant to be resting,” Bond says, and really does sound almost disappointed in Q.

“I am resting,” Q protests. “But _sleep_ isn’t going to happen on this thing.”

He can’t go back to his own bed just yet, the situation on the floor is too close to critical and too likely to require Q in a hurry; they need him rested, though, and the closest he’s likely going to get is sitting up on this uncomfortable cot and scrolling through shitty memes to give his tired brain a break.

Or, it would seem, leaning on Bond after the man sits down next to him and offers him a shoulder. Much more comfortable than the cot or the wall, Q discovers quickly.

Eventually, Q rests his eyes. Sleep doesn’t come, but at least he isn’t dead on his feet by the time they call for him to return to his station.

Neither of them sleep in the bed they share in a room they were checked into by a very disinterested desk clerk at a cheap motel in some godforsaken part of the States.

Theirs was the last room left to rent, likely because a number of people had been caught in this ridiculous blizzard, the heat is dodgy, and it’s _fucking cold_ in there.

Q shamelessly burrows closer to Bond, attempting to absorb as much of the other man’s body heat as possible.

“Christ, Q, do you even _have_ circulation, or are you just a lively corpse?” Bond grouses, even as he tugs Q closer.

“It would make certain aspects of our relationship rather suspect if it were the latter,” Q mused, voice muffled as he mashes his face into the junction of Bond’s neck and shoulder, where he can feel the vibration of Bond’s answering snicker.

At last, Bond’s own bed is clean and crisp and underused, but surprisingly comfortable, and Q is sinking into the mattress before Bond’s even finished undressing.

Neither of them have had an adequate amount of sleep in days, and it had only made sense to conserve time and energy and go home together. Bond had made insinuations in the car that Q had humored sleepily, banking on the fact that Bond would be too tired to carry them out.

He’s proven right when the light pressing on his eyelids disappears and he feels the mattress dip beside him. He scoots over a little, just enough that he can feel the heat of Bond beside him, can hear the deepening rasp of his breathing, and smiles a dozy twitch of a smile.

In the companionable darkness, they sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on [Tumblr](https://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/622766259956776961/hit-the-sheets-james-bond-00q-5-times-bond-and)


End file.
